Miranda was suspended like a piece of fruit in figurative jello, seeing something she couldn't believe, and feeling the whole world around her melt into slow motion. Perspiration beaded against her forehead, and her nipples tightened with fear as the low bass of her pulse throbbed wildly in her clit. Standing jello-glued in the doorway, she was too far away to stop her roommate, her sweet sexy Shelley, from noticing the worn piece of paper lying stark and obvious against the floor.
It was a piece of Miranda's stationary; a most specific piece, a love letter. She didn't want anyone to know about it, and most definitely not Shelley. "Not Shelley, please not Shelley," she silently prayed knowing it was futile. Her eyes were trained on Shelley, watching her nonchalantly bend and pick up the paper. Adrenalin quickened over her body, forcing her from immobility. Flying at her with a strangled "Nooooooooooooooooo!," Miranda hoped to stop her before she could read anything incriminating. Instead she ended up tumbling headlong into her as the toe of her sneaker caught the corner of the bed frame, and knocked her onto the bed like a line backer. They struggled, wrestling for the letter.
"What the Fuck?" Shelley laughed, "I was just going to put it back on your bed. Now I really want to know what it is. I'm gonna read it...I'm gonna read it," she taunted in a sultry singsong. Miranda lunged for the paper again, pressing her into the bed, clawing up her arm. Shelley was giggling and writhing beneath her twisting out of reach. Miranda felt her heart dancing sweaty salsa rhythms as her hand rested a moment too long on the underside of Shelley's bouncing breast. A guilty blush stole across her skin, and she snatched her hand away quickly. Using that exact moment to escape, Shelley laughed and ran to the other side of the room, her eyes flashing victoriously.
"Please...Shelley...please don't read the letter." Miranda was begging now. She didn't know what was going to happen if Shelley saw the content of it. Her eyes were glued to Shelley's hands watching them open it, the letter Miranda wrote to her a year earlier when they were sophomores. Shelley modeled as part of her work study scholarship, and was the subject of Miranda's Figure Drawing class.
She was the recreation of Titian's most lush model. Miranda remembered sliding her charcoal along Shelley's curves, blowing dust from her skin, shining it with a chamois cloth. She fell in love with Shelley in the exact moment she captured her spirit on pressed paper. Miranda rushed home after class, and wrote Shelley a love letter professing the most honest moment of lust and love she'd ever experienced. It was her epiphany and made her realize what she was, accept her life, her needs. That honest letter, the one Miranda knew she would never send, was about to betray her, and she was helpless to stop it.